


Dreams Unlooked For

by LadyLysa



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Elladan has no idea how he got involved in any of this, Erestor and Glorfindel are idiots in love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Lindir is a lovable dirtmouthed airhead, M/M, Matchmaking, Sarcasm, a teeny tiny bit of angst, literally almost unnoticeable
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 17:47:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8810155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLysa/pseuds/LadyLysa
Summary: Everyone knows Erestor and Glorfindel are in love, everyone except the two fools themselves. Sometimes, Fate (and well-meaning friends) need to give two lovers a push... or several pushes. But playing with Fate can give rise to consequences unlooked for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This initially began as an attempt to see the relationship between Glorfindel and Erestor through another's eyes. But then Lindir and Elladan pushed their way in and decided to have feelings and emotions and take over the story. Hopefully, they are as enjoyable of characters as Erestor and Glorfindel (both of whom will appear plenty in the story!). 
> 
> Also a note about the Twins' personalities. This story takes place when Middle Earth is still at peace and evil has not yet begun encroaching. Therefore, although Elladan and Elrohir go forth on patrols frequently, they have not truly been touched by grief or pain yet. That's why they are both a bit more playful and mischievous.

“And what do you think you’re doing?” Elladan looked up at Lindir, who was climbing delicately up the leafy, gnarled oak tree that (as Celebrian often complained) ruined the view out of a good portion of the Homely House’s windows.

Lindir tossed a glance over his shoulder. “Come up and see!” he said imperiously.

Elladan clambered up more clumsily. His mannish blood, little enough as it was, lended little in the way of grace. Lindir was staring into a window with an odd, mischievous smile on his lips. Elladan felt a frisson of foreboding pass over him. 

“What are you looking at?” he asked. 

“Erestor and Glorfindel making fools of themselves. Just look at the two idiots!”

Elladan looked. Erestor and Glorfindel were sitting in Erestor’s study, seemingly caught in a game of chess, two glasses of sweet wine forgotten beside their hands. Yet for Glorfindel at least, the focus was not entirely on the game. For when Erestor’s dark head best over the board, a few strands of loose black hair falling over his face, Glorfindel’s eyes were intent on him. Elladan recognized that look. Wistfulness. Cloaked longing. 

No matter Man or Elf or Dwarf, that look of love hidden was the same across all races. Elladan had often teased his brother relentlessly over that look, back when he was still in the early throes of passion over that impish little Elf maid from Lindon. She had enjoyed teasing Elrohir a little too lunch, but then, Elladan thought justly, Elrohir had given quite as good as he got.

Lindir was still focused on Erestor and Glorfindel. “You should see Erestor’s little sighs when Glorfindel is bent over the board. It is really quite funny. And given the frequency, it is a miracle that they keep missing each other.”

“And, you are spying on them why?” 

Lindir looked mysterious. “I was just getting some inspiration. Rivendell is really quite beautiful from this perch. In any case, where is your other half? I rarely see you without Elrohir.”

Elladan tossed his head scornfully. “Sulking in his room. He and Anoriel had another fight.”

Elrohir’s little Elf-maid. Lindir quickly suppressed a grin. “Again?”

Elladan nodded. “I don’t think he even knows what on Arda they fought about. All he would tell me is that it was terrible and he would never forgive such an insult. That is… until he goes running to her door tomorrow with a handful of roses and mouthful of apologies and suddenly Anoriel will once again be the fairest creature to ever grace Middle Earth.”

Lindir laughed. “Did you know that he came up to me last week and asked me to write an ode to the ‘pure emerald sweetness of her exquisite eyes?’ Your brother truly has a gift for poetry.”

“My brother,” Elladan said decidedly, “has a gift for idiocy. He has become simply unbearable ever since he began that affair with Anoriel.”

Lindir simply smiled. “Love makes fools of us all.”

“Then thank Eru that dreadful illness has not come to me. And hopefully it never shall!”

“You cannot control the vagaries of the heart, little Peredhel. But come, hearts already given are fair game surely?”

“What are you getting at?”

“I am simply of the opinion that Erestor and Glorfindel are both far too lonely and deserve to have their suffering rewarded.”

Realization hit Elladan. “You wish to play matchmaker, Lindir? Has Imladris become so boring to you?”

“In fact it has. Why, I’ve lived here so long that I know what people will say before they open their mouths! I feel like I will simply scream if I have another day like today and yesterday and countless days before that. Gildor has offered me to go on one of his long trips. So it’s either matchmaking or the Wandering Company. And you don’t want me to leave, do you?” Lindir asked guilelessly, slanting his grey-green eyes at Elladan. 

“I - of course not!” Elladan felt an odd panic surge up at him at the thought of Lindir leaving. Lindir had always been here. In the twins’ childhood, after every scolding or reproof, the twins would take refuge in Lindir’s music room, listening to his fantastical stories and funny little tunes. Later, after patrols, Elladan could always expect a merry, incongruous tune announcing their return. And the Hall of Fire was always the richer for Lindir’s nimble fingers, melodious voice, quick wit, and clever, often scandalous stories. Elladan knew well that the Wandering Company’s journeys often took more than a century before passing to Imladris. 

“Well, there you go. And, I expect you to help me.”

“What?” Elladan gasped. “You know Elrohir is better at tricks… and romance…”  
“And I suppose you are a staid old limpet? According to you, Elrohir is currently moping in his room. And from the tales I hear, you are no laggard either.”

Elladan flushed painfully. He had had his share of affairs. His face (and his lineage) brought him no shortage of admirers. But it was Elrohir who fell madly in love and had romantic, tragic affairs. For Elladan, attractions were casual and shallow, and rather infrequent, if truth be told. Elladan sometimes worried over his lack of depth and Elrohir called him an emotionless clam. All the same, he did not like Lindir thinking about his past affairs.

 

*

Lindir was a born schemer. He had forced himself into Elladan’s room with a bottle of Elrond’s finest vintage and had spent the past hour detailing with the fulsomeness of increasing drunkenness alarmingly intricate plans to get Glorfindel and Erestor together. Elladan could barely get a word in edgewise and contented himself with sipping the wine slowly, lulling himself into pleasant tipsiness.

It was, after all, a very pleasant evening. Lindir possessed, as an old crone from Gondor had once said, “the gift of gab.” He punctuated his monologue with witty asides and sharp remarks about everything from the kitchen lard to Gondolin. Elladan couldn’t help but enjoy himself greatly and laughter burst out of him easily. 

He realized, suddenly, that he did not truly know Lindir as well as he might have. Lindir had been at Elrond’s side for millennia, a laughing, merry presence whose cheer and music helped make the House truly Homely. Yet despite the fact that Lindir’s charm and talent attracted people like bees, only Erestor could be counted as his closest friend. Perhaps Glorfindel and Elrond on good days, but Erestor always. It was sometimes amusing to see the reserved, dignified Chief Counselor and the irreverent, fickle minstrel with their heads together, sparring with words or laughing at some shared joke.

For other people, Lindir was wont to become utterly enraptured, spend all his time at their side, then suddenly grow apart. It was this that worried Elladan. For already he could feel the tendrils of fondness creeping around his heart as he listened to Lindir’s lively conversation and knew that a sudden ending of this friendship would hurt him terribly. Then Lindir looked at him out of suddenly mischievous eyes and made a joke about Glorfindel’s hair and Elladan dismissed his fears. He would enjoy this friendship while it lasted.

He paused Lindir’s rambling of an extremely convoluted plan involving a potato, a sword, and several bottles of Dorwinion wine to get Glorfindel and Erestor together, saying drily, “Why don’t we just lock them in a storeroom together?”

Lindir sat up on one elbow and looked at Elladan as if he had just found a Silmaril. “That is genius. I always knew you had brains in that pretty little head of yours.”

Elladan felt a telltale blush rise up at this, but Lindir barreled on, unmindful. “It must be the Old Cellar of course. That door locks when it is pushed shut. You and I must do this together, Elladan. Erestor always suspects me for everything.”

**  
It was another hour before Lindir left. Elladan went in search of his brother for after all, Elrohir was supposedly heartbroken. 

He found Elrohir lounging on one of Imladris’ many balconies. 

“What took you so long?” Elrohir demanded. “I wanted to tell you that Anoriel and I made up.”

“Already? I thought your pride would have you wait until at least the morn, brother.”

“There is no pride when love is at stake. Perhaps you will find that out sometime a few ages hence,” Elrohir said nastily.

Elladan made a crude hand gesture at his brother.

“In any case, where were you?” Elrohir asked, rolling his eyes. 

“Speaking with Lindir.” Elladan felt oddly reluctant to share this with his brother. After all, he shared everything with Elrohir. It was only natural to wish to keep something for himself alone.

Elrohir clucked his tongue sympathetically. “That dear old minstrel can talk the legs off a horse. Which reminds me: Caladir told me that Melpomaen told him that Erestor needs his book on Horses and Wine in Arda: An Unlikely Match by Mistress Gilthoniel back from you. Just give him the rag by tomorrow.” Elrohir grinned suddenly when he espied a slender, vivid figure standing on the veranda. “Good night to you brother! I have a fair lady to warm by bed tonight and if you had any sense greater than that of a river fish, you’d look for the same.”

***  
Elladan met Erestor looking decidedly harried the next morning. He absentmindedly took Horses and Wine back and promptly placed it on a shelf entitled Sorcery: Mysteries and Magic. 

“Is there something wrong, Erestor?” Elladan asked with amusement, watching Erestor recategorize the papers on his desk. “Too much work?”

“Too little! Glorfindel came by yestermorn and offered to help me with my work and we made truly extraordinary progress. And now I have naught to do for the next day. I do not like this feeling.”

“Take a day off then! Do what you wish for a day. And ask Glorfindel-“ 

Erestor brightened up. “Glorfindel! Of course, I can help Glorfindel with his duties!”

He hurried out of the room, Elladan staring at him in disbelief.

****  
Lindir put his plan to action a few days later. He had spent so much time in Elladan’s room that Elladan thought to return the favor. Lindir’s chambers were very like him, cheerful, welcoming, and eccentric. The furniture was fine, but all mismatched and comfortable and the tables and available spaces were filled with all manner of artifacts, from Haradrim carvings to Numenorean pottery, relics of Lindir’s long ago travels. Everything in it seemed to have some odd story attached to it. The room was large and light and airy and the curtains always drawn open. It was pleasantly cluttered, rather than the scrupulous neatness of Erestor’s rooms or the chaos of Elrohir’s. The only things kept in perfect polish were Lindir’s instruments: numerous harps, lutes, a viol, and a fiddle, even a curious instrument from the east that Lindir called a “guitar.”

“Here is how it will work,” Lindir said. “It is you who must speak to Erestor, for how could he suspect you? You were never a hand for pranks, even while you were young. Elrohir was more mischievous. You must get him to go to the Old Cellar on some pretext. I will get Glorfindel to do the same. He will do as I say,”

“Why?”

“Let us just say,” Lindir said, smiling slyly, “that Glorfindel owes me several favors. What pretext will you use?”

“I suppose,” Elladan said slowly, “there is that delegation from Eryn Galen coming in the next day or two and you know how much Erestor despises Greenwood Elves and their snooty ways. They will undoubtedly bring their famed Dorwinion with them. I could persuade Erestor to bring up some of that Nargathrond liqueur that is only kept in the Old Cellar to show them up. You know Erestor only trusts very few people in the Old Cellar so he will pick it up himself.”

Lindir was looking at him delightedly. “I never thought you had such capacity for manipulation. How utterly wonderful!”


End file.
